


A Curiousity

by nightmarefever



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Gender-neutral Reader, Other, Reader Insert, Riding, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmarefever/pseuds/nightmarefever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t know who he is but you want to. The quiet boy in the corner, always in the same bed every day. Nobody does but maybe... you can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Curiousity

**Author's Note:**

> since i wrote a komaeda and hinata reader fic i felt it only natural i end up writing an izuru one! ive never really wrote izuru before so...i hope i got him right... and i hope y'all enjoy this fic!! 
> 
> as all previous fics, dfab reader. talent: ultimate memory!

They tell you he was different before, these medical students running around mock clinics, excited to have a real patient to work with.They say many things about him. They recount memories of a boy in a black suit, lower class garbs. How he had been so eager to be their patient. How ready he was. How friendly he was. How beautiful his smile was.

You think they're playing jokes on you.

You're the new kid, just passing by to learn something as you do at all the clubs and functions around Hope's Peak. You already know all you need from class, after all. Examining the other students in their work seemed better than staying home.

Now you get to remember all the different laughs from classmates teasing you when you step into their space.

Everyone has their games they play.

He doesn’t play along. So the game ends swiftly.

But there is never laughter, even from the other students. The clumsy nurse who keeps a trembling distance. The ill-dressed boy reading manga and looking up at you with a scrowl. The others who find their talents needed here. Nobody laughs at their joke.. He certainly doesn't laugh.

He doesn’t do... anything. Anything at all.

You see him try doing something sometimes. Read a book, play a game, run a test for doctors that aren't just students but real adults who hurry him to a separate room when they arrive. Worry the kids who watch him leave with wide eyes and murmurs.

Only the doctors remain. He never sticks to things long.

He's curious.

Nobody knows him besides the jokes and the rumors.

You're intrigued.

You don't usually linger in areas. You stop by for a week or two, observe, and depart. Being Ultimate Memory, that's all you need to pick up on what's happening, how things work, where everyone fits into the equation.

You fit in nowhere. You don't want to overstay your welcome.

But you linger with the medical students. Too interested in how this unknown boy fits into his niche. And if you can make him more than an unknown.

He's sitting in the same hospital bed he's sat in for a month that day. You've been in the medical ward for a month. You know the patterns by heart of each individual now - you did a week in. You know three times a week, he has visits. Every day, he has checkups. Every other day by the nurse, otherwise by the reader.

You know he’s gone four days since trying something new, which had been drawing. It had lasted all of an hour before he closed the sketchbook and tossed it to the floor carelessly. And went back to laying on his side, staring out into the room.

You know his hair is getting longer and darker. It falls over his pillow in black curtains. Last month, it had been a dusty brown, just touching his neck.

You know everyone. Not because you're social or popular but because you need to. You know all the talents currently enrolled and who, if anyone, held that title before them. There's the main course, the reserve course, the faculty… A list so vast it could make even your mind numb but it's all stuck. You could never forget anyone.

He has to be from one of those groups. He's definitely not an outsider.

Maybe reserve course?

You can make out his face from your seat by the door and, well, its the same face you've been watching for four weeks. You don't recognize it from the reserve course classes you were allowed to sit through. And you sat through them all, helping each teacher without drawing too much attention to yourself - or upsetting students who might know you were from the main course.

Going over names doesn't bring faces to mind, or at least not faces you can match to the boy. Mori, Watanabe, Hinata, Kuzuryuu- nothing.

It makes your nose wrinkle. It's troublesome. What if… you forgot someone? You, the person let into this school for their inability to forget, missing something. Your stomach drops at the mere suggestion. No, that's impossible.

If you can remember everyone in those unremarkable reserve course classes, you can't forget this boy. He must have been absent. Or new. Did transfer students come this late in the year?

A rush travels up your body suddenly.

The boy.

He's looking at you.

He's looked at you before. When you first arrived mostly. Quiet gazing as you found a seat and watched the room in turn.

His eyes were darker then. You remember the color even from such a short glimpse of them. Light green, almost yellow in tint. Now they are red, bright in the white room, blue covers of his bed.

The black of his hair blankets his face. Swirls around it as he sits up.

He’s sitting up.

Your heart flutters strangely watching him move. The curiosity he draws out of you suffocating. You do nothing but watch as you have been for the last four weeks, two days, eight hours, thirty-five minutes -

The number threatens to repeat itself, a nervous habit - are you nervous?

The boy is in front of you.

Oh. Oh yes, you're nervous. Frozen in place as he sits on the floor, hospital robes looking sickeningly loose on him. Hair falling off his shoulders in strings.

Face dark and dead and unknown.

“You don't belong here.”

His voice matches him well. It sounds forced, like he hasn't spoken in ages. Tone empty of emotion or depth. Just there. Like a bad voice-over.

“Why are you always here?”

“Uh.” It's all you can get out. You're not social after all. You don't expect people to have the time for you outside of their work. Especially not someone like this.

“You're painfully predictable.” He holds a hand out, places his chin on it. “You must have a really painful talent to be like this. It's nothing to do with this place, I'm sure. You wouldn't be so useless otherwise.”

It takes you back. Finally, the mysterious boy you've been fascinated by for weeks is speaking to you. And it's to sit here and insult you.

Is this insulting? Your talent is painful. You are useless. Maybe he's just being blunt.

You swallow back your nerves. “I’m… Ultimate Memory.” Were your palms always this sweaty?

“They make anything a talent, don't they?”

Maybe he's just being rude.

You feel less nervous when he’s like this. Dominating the conversation so mercilessly. You don't get sweaty palms when you feel almost… pissed off. He pisses you off in a nonchalant way.

“I don't think I have that, though. That's interesting.” He leans behind, back against a bed and continues. “I have every talent here...but yours. That’s interesting.” Brings a leg up and rests his head on it.

He can't sit still. Funny when he never moves from that creaky bed.

The anger takes a backseat to the return of your curiosity. Immense return. “What do you mean you… have every talent?” you ask weakly. You have a feeling he won't properly answer you.

He doesn’t. “Izuru.”

“... Izuru?”

The boy stands, now sitting on the bed. “Everyone keeps asking my name and you would have too. I don't care if you call me Izuru. Matsuda calls me Izuru but the doctors call me Kamukura-san. Just stick to what he does. It's less troublesome.”

And with that, he stands, he walks away, and he lays back in bed. Tucked into his covers, he gives no sign of continuing to speak to you or anyone ever again.

“Izuru.” It sounds fitting. Three syllables that leave your mouth as the students for the day start piling in.

The mumblings about the boy in the corner start up again. The schedules nobody diverts from begin. You sit in the same chair you've been sat in for a month and whisper the name to yourself as if you might forget it.

Walking home, heart beating fast, you feel like you've seen his face before. But whoever in your memory he reminds you of, it's nothing compared to who he is.

Who Izuru Kamukura is.

You love the ruts everyone has dug out for themselves, each step of a fixed action continuously repeated like clockwork day in and day out. This normalcy is calming. You enjoy testing yourself by guessing what will happen next.

Izuru doesn’t rut. He may spend days in bed, alone and still, but that never stays. He gets up randomly, he tries to get the others to get him things from the school for hobbies.

And now, occasionally, he talks to you.

There's no schedule for you to rely on anymore. When he feels like talking, he goes right up to you and starts talking, no matter when or where - as long as you're in the room. If he doesn't see you when he turns in bed, you won't get to speak to him for even longer.

Izuru doesn't talk about himself. In a school composed of geniuses and stars, it's nice. It's normal. He asks about you instead.

Your name, your grade, your sign, your blood type. If you have siblings, family. Why you visit the hospital. How your talent works. What you think of the others.

What you think of him.

“I think you're interesting.”

“Of course you do.”

You're used to asking the questions, finding out everything you can about those around you. Not to someone honestly asking about you.

You're just… the person who remembers things. It's just an inherent skill you can't control, can't hone nor use practically. Maybe in a mystery you could be the one to remember vital evidence but… this is real life.

You're hardly above a reserve course student.

But Izuru continues to find questions, predicts your answers sometimes when you answer too slow, gives a yawn and ends conversation prematurely without warning. You get to be the center of his attention, sparking mumbles about you among the students.

It's silly. Silly but… it makes your heart flutter, cheeks heat up each time you notice Izuru staring at you. Knowing he wants to find out everything he can about you is flattering. More than that, it’s cute.

You think he's cute.

You feel like you're important, important in general and important to someone even as a distraction from whatever reason Izuru stays here every day.

And he is so cute for it. With his long hair circling him each time he stands, red eyes growing enchanting the more you look at them. His whole being filling you with warmth and you can't pretend you don't like him.

You like Izuru. A silly crush is setting in. It wouldn't be months later otherwise, you still here, abandoning any thought of checking other wings out. All you need right now is Izuru and his attention.

Attention you almost crave - you do crave. Ache for each day, pray for each day. When you don't get it, you notice. It's painful having to watch the room bustle with activity when he won't even look at you. Which is natural. He only talks to you sparingly. Days can pass without him paying you any mind.

It's been a week though. A full week has passed since he last spoke to you.

You micromanage your days down to the seconds and you're still embarrassed to know exactly how many minutes since its been. In a time when you've seen him pick up video games again and fail at staying interested -

Oh.

Oh.

Your gut curls.

He's not interested in you anymore.

Your gut churns.

He's moved on. You no longer have any excitement or reason to draw him in. There's no more questions to ask, conversations to be had.

It’s over.

You suppose that it's only natural. Someone like you couldn't stay interesting that long. In the end, you and your talent are nothing but a bore. Even if you had to go and get invested in him.

He certainly wasn't invested in you.  

Unless…

The room's clearing out as the day comes to a close. It's soon just you and an empty room. Not even Izuru there, off finishing whatever it is the doctors are doing with him.

You get to be alone with your thoughts. Thoughts of mixed feelings and stupid situations. Stomach sick from being ignored by someone you thought liked you - not that it was ever more than projecting. You can't shove aside all the comfort talking to him brought. How badly you don't want to just sit back and let it die.

Izuru enters the room, brushing hair from his eyes. Bright beautiful eyes.

You have never spoke to him first. Always too busy or too shy. But the fear of losing his conversations builds courage.

“Izuru!”

He pauses by his bedside. Back clad in wrinkled robes is facing you and it makes you feel braver. Not having to see such a pretty face helps you walk to him on wobbling legs. Your whole body feels wobbly.

You find yourself by him somehow. Chest thumping on the brink of bursting, but you're here.

Izuru looks at you with the same blank expression he always has.

And you realize you don't know what to do next.

“Uh.”

With no plan whatsoever, you simply stand rigid and red. Heat covering your face, boiling in your gut. All next to a boy who doesn't care in the least bit.

He spares you two words. “Go home.”

It's the first time you've heard his voice all week. It sounds somehow worse, quieter. Just as blunt as ever though.

Go home.

You should. Admitting you ran your course with him is best. Finally leaving this disgustingly clean, squeaky clinic would be best. You could help the reserve course teachers again and maybe figure out who Izuru was in the bundled groups of same faces.

You won’t.

You're foolish and too caught on the way him looking at you makes your mouth numb. Heart strings pluck. Body shiver.

His hand is cold when you hold it. You don't know why you hold it but it grabs his attention.

He stares at it.

You restrain from saying ‘uh’ again. “Izuru... “ Both hands cup his, fingers in a tight ball. “I just wanted to… say-”

“How predictable you are?” he says without missing a beat.

You finally lose all your courage. Hands try not to shake around him as he yawns. Of course, you're boring him, aren't you? Or is he just tired after a long day? “I--”

“You don't even have anything to say, do you?”

It's when he wiggles his hand free from your weakening grasp that you realize he's getting into bed. Is in bed, stepping out of flimsy slippers. You are left there, standing alone with your heart stabbing and brain overheating and

“What can I do?”

“What can you do?” You can't tell if he's repeating or asking. You want to assume asking. It's all you can do when your thoughts are racing this fast to find something to interest him.

“Anything you need. I… I answered everything you asked when you needed answers. You don't need answers anymore so… whatever you need now, I can give that “

“Anything.”

You nod. He's not even looking at you. Yawning again. His hands run through hair that looks both silky and ruined, pushing a long strand behind his ear.

“You’re giving me permission to do anything?”

“...Yes.” It’s a foolish thing to agree to so readily. You’re foolish for not walking home, for approaching him so suddenly and boldly. This is all so foolish but you don’t care. You’re not scared of whatever he thinks of when he finally looks at you. “You have my permission.” You just want him to look at you at all.

Once the words leave your lips, Izuru doesn’t hesitate. His hand reaches out, tugging on the tie of your uniform. Tugging enough to pull you to him.

The heat scorches your face now. Noses brush. Bright eyes looking over your expression intensely. Up close, you can see the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. How the roots of his hair still look brown in the light.

The tips of what looks like a scar under his bangs. Ringing around his forehead.

He’s cold. His hand was cold on yours. And his lips are cold when they touch you. It’s apparent through the heat.

You know he doesn’t close his eyes or look away when he kisses you. Yours widen after all. You want to shut them tight, you really do. But you just end up frozen by his contact and presence.

When he’s done, Izuru doesn’t let go of your tie. You’re left helplessly close to watch him once it’s over. A tongue traces his lips, eyes darting to the side curiously. He returns.

“That was a lot less interesting than I imagined. That’s why you don’t get your hopes up.”

Ears are deaf to the thumb of your heart. Growing as he speaks. You try to process what just happened - that the boy you got this stupid silly crush on just kissed you. His lips still faint on yours, the memory vivid in your mind. Even more vivid than every other memory you’re stuck with. This one pounds at your skull.

He’s letting go of you.

You realize you grab him back when he’s quiet again. Izuru watches you with your hand tight on his wrist. There’s that and the heat, the pounding, the loudness in your head besides the stillness of the room.

“I… can do better.”

Immediately -- “Then do it. Don’t waste my time.”

Swallow. Shiver. Understand hesitation is going to make him throw you away and never speak to you again.

You can’t afford to be hesitant.

This time, your eyes close. You press into another kiss and shut your eyes, refusing to see his no-doubt deadpan expression. His lips are unreactive. Unmoving as you try again. The hand on his wrist moves to his face.

It’s like holding a corpse. He breathes against your face as your kiss him but it’s like he’s nothing but an inanimate object. Cold and lifeless. But it doesn’t turn you off of him. You know how he is with things.

So far he doesn’t shove you off. There’s not even a comment about how bad you are at this. In a way, it’s a good sign.

You feel him finally moving as the kisses leave his lips. Nervously. You’ve never had to do this before, at least not when your partner won’t tell you if it’s alright, if he’s enjoying it. You really hope he is. Maybe just a bit of how you feel, he feels.

His neck tilts as you kiss it. Opening you eyes shows Izuru taking the hair on that side and moving it over. He makes no sound, no more movement. All you have is him helping you get easier access.

“...C-Can you… lay down?” Voice cracks out. It’s just as shaky as the rest of you.

Izuru folds his hands behind his head, doing just that. Still no words. You gulp nervously.

He knows where this is going right?

It’s okay to do what you want...right?

You don’t even know what you want. You just wanted to not be ignored. For the boy to keep talking to you. You didn’t want to kiss him - no, that’s a lie. Pretending like you hadn’t thought about it at all was a lie. You just never thought you would get to.

You certainly never expected this, weakly crawling into the hospital bed above him. Crimson eyes watching your motions and mouth still wet from yours not letting out word nor sound. Not even as your hands go to undo his gown, the blue robes slipping off easily. You just want to kiss his chest, you tell yourself. That’s all.

Strangely, Izuru isn’t so thin underneath. There’s the tips of bones against skin, yes, but there’s a softness to them. Your fingers touch his shoulders and it’s soft. Firm. He looks more alive beneath than he did before. Tan body framed by the long hair falling around the bed.

You keep from pushing the robes from his waist.

The silence continues with each kiss down his body. You could worry yourself silly on it, nerves mixing with that in your stomach making you feel sick. You feel very sick, a good and bad feeling. It doesn’t build, at least. It clings to your belly, lingering as you kiss at Izuru’s neck, his shoulders, his chest.

Hands go down his frame, holding his hips. They’re just as firm as the rest of him. Curving into your palms and for a moment you think they jerk towards you. Jerk enough someone like you would notice. But you could just be looking for any sign from Izuru.

Maybe you should talk to him.

A hand crawls up his chest, rubbing over it.

“Is this… better?”

“It’s not even the same thing as before.”

Your mouth closes.

His chest rises and falls, regular as ever. If he’s nervous, you won’t get to know. He must not be.

Can he even get nervous?

You don’t ask anything more, sitting back on your heels and looking down at him.

His face isn’t even flustered. Izuru just looks back like he always does, showing no signs of anything to give you to work off of. No blush. No words. No emotion. While you’re straddling him, filled with butterflies that pinch under your skin.

It’s frustrating.

You push his robes off his waist. Out of the corner of your eye, you think his eyebrows lift but you don’t have the time to make sure. You still can’t hesitate. Even at the only thing he has under his hospital gown. Blue boxers, decorated with white flowers, white specks.

You’re frustrated to know there’s not even a dent in them. You knew you weren’t making any progress but this is just…

Fingers loop into the waistband. “I’m pulling them down, okay?”

Nothing.

Of course.

Under the boxers, he’s soft. Just like the rest of his body but now it’s just an inconvenience. Hair as brown as you remember that on his head being encases him, prickles your hand as it lays on his stomach. Izuru still doesn’t move. Nor speak.

He hasn’t asked you to stop so that’s good. Right? You can keep going.

Even if you almost don’t want to. All the noise and emotion in your body is suffocating. Brushing your thumb over the base, hearing an inhale, you’re drowning in how heavy everything feels. The situation is quicksand and your body refuses to pull up--

You heard an inhale.

Eyes jerk up to Izuru.

It’s finally there. The faintest of pink on his cheeks, expression otherwise the same as ever. Bored red staring and waiting. And his cheeks are pink.

It’s a start. A butterfly dies at the sight of it. A little nervous now.

There’s an exhale when you grasp him. Izuru shuffles under you, adjusting his position on the bed. It’s nice to feel him move. His sounds are rare and quiet but their existence gives some courage. Maybe he is enjoying this.

Your hand starts to move, sweat soaking your skin making this a bit easier than it could be. But that sounds disgusting. You try to ignore it, focusing on how he’s hardening. Slowly but surely. 

Ankles ache from the position you’re in but for now, they can wait. You lick your lips, trying to pretend your face isn’t on fire as you work. Hearing Izuru give a faint grunt once you’re working with him stiff and ready. 

You chance a glance. 

For once, he’s not following your face. He watches your hand stroking him, own folded over his bare chest. The pink is darker, lining over the bridge of his nose. Eyes stuck still in the bored expression you’re so used to but his mouth is parted.

Slightly parted. 

The room is without disturbances, just the two of you. Enough silence that if you strain your ears, you can hear how his breath wavers as you thumb the head of his cock, race back to the base to capture him whole. 

His mouth parts a bit more. 

Izuru’s hips jerk and he stops you. His cold hand pushing you off of him is startling, making your burning gut boil with fear. Not for yourself but for... could you say your relationship? How he felt about you, especially after this? 

It churns slowly, the bad feelings, the ache as he sits up and moves closer to you. The bed creaks with him. 

In a swift motion, your bottoms are pulled down your thighs. 

“Izuru--”

Biting your mouth closed hardly helps. As each time before, Izuru moves without waiting, bringing your underwear down too and making you feel painfully nude. You _are_  painfully nude, trembling as your clothing is pushed to the bed sheets. 

“Move.” He taps your knees.

You just do as he says. Sitting back so he can tug them all the way off. You’re left trying to hide in your blazer and shirt. Legs closed but Izuru just pushes them apart. 

His nose wrinkles at the sight of you. 

But he still touches it, finger against you pulling a shiver down your spine. He thinks its gross but he keeps moving. It dips in and he lets it. You strain not to hold onto him as it does, long finger going in deep without warning and popping out with just as much.

Izuru examines the wetness coating his finger. The shivers and fire in your body wait for him to finish, unsure what to do. He’s strangely fascinated by it. 

When he’s done, he rubs it on the bed sheets. Lays back and gestures at you.

“...What?”

“Get on.”

“G-Get on?” 

Your gaze snaps to his crotch. Member erect and waiting -

Waiting for you. 

The dying butterflies from earlier revive. They bounce against your belly, hand clenching tight to your tie. You remember how Izuru had grabbed it moments before, tugging you into a chaste kiss. And now he wants you to get on top of him. 

You hesitate for once. 

Izuru notices. Hair is brushed aside, revealing more of his beautiful face. It just makes you burn more. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Eyes jerk between the dark face, dark eyes, dark emotionless line of his lips. To the stiffness at his groin, hand holding the base steady. His entire being framed by blue robes hanging off his shoulders, black curling around skin. 

His chest is harder now, it seems, when you put your hands on it. Holding yourself up on it, you focus on what he’s readying for you. 

“I want to.”

You say it for yourself. Because you do. It’s sudden but Izuru doesn’t seem to see it so. He probably doesn’t even think of it as something so big. So you can pretend it isn’t. 

Nails dig as he fills you. Eyes squeeze shut. Body shivers until you’re sitting. Izuru grunts again. 

A moment is spent breathing, relaxing your body at what’s digging deep within it. Everything feels suddenly... cold. Like you don’t exist within this being anymore. 

And it all wakes up as he jerks up. A silent cue to just begin already. 

So you do.

Your legs are jelly from all you’ve gone through today, hardly better now with each lift and fall onto Izuru. You wish he’d do this instead. All he’s done is lay back and take this. You’re exhausted. You want to rest.

You can rest later, when you’re not riding him. Thick cock dragging inside of you, making you whine unashamedly. You curl over his body more each time it moves and the sounds won’t stop. They claw at your throat, leaving you off a wet, shaking mouth.

It’s embarrassing, especially besides Izuru. The only thing you hear is breathing, heavy, yes, but still just breathing. No moans, no whimpers, no words as you fuck yourself on him. 

Just breathing, loud in your ear when your head is on his chest. 

It’s better than nothing.

Izuru only touches you once, arms going around you. It stills your movements. You pause above him.

He’s not done, you know that for certain. 

But he doesn’t stop you to finish this. He stops you to flip you. 

You give a feeble gasp as your back smacks the bed, knocked backwards by Izuru. For a brief moment, he’s out of you and you almost whimper at the emptiness. You’re too close for this to be over with now. You don’t want it to be.

It’s not. Izuru slips back inside of you - slowly, carefully much unlike how he pushed you down. Your legs hang on his hips, wrapping tight as his stomach is against you. 

And then he starts again.

Unlike you, he’s not weak. He’s not uncertain. And he doesn’t hold back. 

Izuru practically slams into you, holding you on him as he thrusts wildly. Wildly yet strangely measured, a pattern that makes your toes curl and head toss back with clenched teeth. Releasing them brings a groan. 

His hair falls on you, itching any skin it curls on. Itching skin and burning body and you holding him close as your arms go around his neck. The rush of your mind from earlier is back, all the little details echoing too loud, too harshly. You can’t think over them and the smack of Izuru’s pelvis against yours. 

You tug at the back of his head. Hard. 

“Ah...”

A giggle leaves you. It’s brief. You have just enough time to feel proud at drawing a sound from him before your body’s jerking. Hand tugging again and feeling Izuru tuck his face into your shoulder. 

The madness of your mind makes your surroundings numb. You know Izuru pulls out of you and by the coldness you feel on your stomach, it’s over. His body is no longer on you. You hear the bed creak, the fall of him against it. 

When you sit up, his aftermath, seeps down your belly button. It’s your turn to wrinkle your nose. He could’ve asked... No. It’s better than it getting on his bed sheets. You aren’t sure how the doctors would react to that. 

At least it didn’t get on your uniform.

Izuru’s on his pillow, wiping sweat from his face. 

Once more, red eyes meet yours. 

“Better,” he mumbles. And goes back to ignoring you.

As you get dressed, cleaning yourself off with tissues by his bed, you don’t mind it this time. Being ignored. It’s optimistic but you’re sure it’s well placed. 

Izuru can ignore you. After what you just did, it’s fine. He’ll speak to you tomorrow. You leave the building with a last look at him. And you’re sure of it.

A silly smile spreads on your still red face. Trying not to laugh at how hard walking home is going to feel. But it’s worth it if it means tomorrow you can speak to him again. 

Passing a few lingering underclassmen, girls you think you’ve seen in the ward before, you know it’ll be okay. 

You just have to wait for tomorrow.


End file.
